Skip to content My sister was a cute thing. At nineteen, Sofia, my little sister, wanted badly to become a massage therapist. She was athletic with soft hands, smooth skin, and a natural optimism that made her touch feel comforting. She loved taking care of people and making them feel good.
Last week, our mom bought her a massage table, and Sofia couldn’t wait to practice on me. She said she needed honest feedback, and I figured, why not help her out?
“Jason, what do you think of these clothes? Are they too revealing?” she asked while I sat on the couch in the living room.
She wore tight gray leggings that hugged every curve of her ass and a cropped sports top that lifted her newly developed breasts just enough to make me uncomfortable. She looked sexy, more than I wanted to admit.
Sofia had light brown hair that shimmered gold when it caught the light and shiny hazel eyes. Her cheeks were dotted with freckles, and her little button nose made her look even younger and sweeter. She stood a couple of inches shorter than me, and something about that made her seem even more endearing, like she was trying so hard to be grown-up.
She tugged at her top, turning toward the mirror with a half-pout. “I want to look professional, but I don’t want to look boring, you know?”
I couldn’t help but stare. Her figure had filled out since high school, and the way those leggings clung to her hips was driving me wild.
“They look good on you,” I said. “But don’t massage therapists usually wear uniforms or something?”
“Yes, but I want to stand out,” she said, and twisted her body, showing off her hips. “And these are comfy to move around in.”
“They don’t look bad on you,” I admitted.
“Great,” she said with a bright smile that showed her dimples. “Okay, do you have time for me to massage you now?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Perfect,” she said. “This will be a classic Swedish massage, so please give me feedback after, okay?”
“Of course, sis,” I told her.
She handed me a pair of disposable one-time trunks that looked more like a flimsy thong. The thing barely looked like it could hold itself together, let alone contain me.
I hesitated, holding it up between my fingers. “You’re kidding, right?”
She laughed. “Nope. That’s what clients wear. It’s part of the practice. Come on, it’s just me.”
That was the problem. It was just her.
She headed to her room, giving me some privacy. I stripped down, trying not to think about how weird it felt being almost naked in front of my sister. I was twenty-two, and lately, I’d been having a hard time controlling my erections. The last thing I needed was for Sofia to notice something she shouldn’t.
I lay down on the massage table, and I told her to come. She quietly returned, and as I lay there on the massage table, my sister’s skilled fingers kneaded away the knots in my tense muscles. I felt myself slowly drifting into a state of relaxation. The scent of lavender oil she’d rubbed into me filled the air, and the calming music she’d put on in the background helped me unwind further. Her touch was feather-light yet firm and feminine, working out the tension I didn’t even know I’d been carrying.
“You’re really good at this,” I mumbled into the headrest, not wanting to break the spell but feeling compelled to give her the feedback she’d asked for.
“Thanks,” she said, her voice like honey in my ear. “I practiced a lot for this.”
As she worked her way down my back, I couldn’t help but notice how her touch felt sensual. It wasn’t just the fact that she was my sister, though that was definitely part of it, but there was a sensuality to her movements. I shifted uncomfortably, hoping she wouldn’t notice the growing erection pressing into the bed.
“Jason, would you prefer softer or firmer pressure?” she asked, interrupting my X-rated thoughts.
“Uh, no … I mean, you’re doing great,” I stammered, my cheeks flushing red. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
She hummed in approval, and her hands continued to caress my body, her strong yet delicate fingers making quick work of the knots in my shoulders. It had been so long since I’d felt the touch of a woman, let alone my own sister’s, and I was finding it increasingly hard to maintain my composure.
“Want some small talk?” she asked, her voice edged with amusement.
“Um, I don’t know,” I said. “Your voice is… nice to listen to, but I guess it depends on the person.”
“Well, you know you can always ask me to shut up if you need to,” she said playfully, her hands pausing for a moment before.
“Nah, we can talk for a little,” I said, hoping it would make the erection soften, but it didn’t. As we softly talked to each other, it just got worse, and I dreaded the moment I had to turn around.
By the time she’d finished with my back, I was rock hard. “Okay, it’s been about half an hour,” Sofia said, her voice taking on that professional tone she’d been practicing. “Time to turn over so I can work on your front.”
My stomach dropped. There was no way I could hide my obvious arousal in these flimsy disposable trunks. “Um, maybe we could just finish with the back today?” I suggested, trying to sound casual.
“No way,” she said, a bit disappointed. “I need to practice the full routine. Come on, Jason. It’s part of my training.”
I swallowed hard, realizing I didn’t have a choice. “Fine,” I muttered, slowly turning over while trying to adjust myself. It was useless. The moment I flipped onto my back, my erection stood proudly beneath the thin fabric, creating an unmistakable tent.
Sofia’s eyes widened momentarily before she burst into a fit of giggles.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurted out, grabbing a nearby towel to cover myself. “This is embarrassing. I didn’t mean to—”
“Relax,” she interrupted, still smiling but regaining her composure. “It’s a completely normal physiological response. We learn about this in class. It happens all the time to male clients.”
“Really?” I asked skeptically.
“Well, maybe not all the time,” she admitted, “but often enough that they teach us how to handle it professionally.” She gently removed the towel I was clutching. “Now let me continue, okay? Just try to relax.”
She began working on my shoulders and chest, her skilled fingers finding pressure points I didn’t know existed. Despite my embarrassment, her touch only made my situation worse. Every time her hands came near my lower abdomen, my cock twitched in response.
“You’re really tense,” she said, pressing into a particularly tight muscle near my collarbone.
“Wonder why,” I muttered sarcastically.
She worked down my legs, massaging my calves and thighs, deliberately avoiding the one area that was clearly begging for attention. By the time she finished, my entire body felt like jelly … except for one persistently rigid part.
“Well,” she said, stepping back to admire her work with a mischievous glint in her eye, “I’d say the massage was a success. Your body certainly seems … hmm, responsive.”
I groaned, covering my face with my arm. “It was lovely, Sofia. You’re really talented.”
She hesitated for a moment, then asked in a lower voice, “Do you want a happy ending?”
I uncovered my face and stared at her. “Are you joking?”
“No,” she replied, her expression serious despite the flush creeping up her cheeks. “A simple handjob isn’t really incest. It’s just… massage therapy with a bonus.”
“That’s definitely incest,” I countered, though my body was screaming for an orgasm.
She shrugged. “Well, if you’re not comfortable with me doing it, you can always take care of it yourself. I can step out for a few minutes.”
“No, that’s not—” I said, struggling to articulate my thoughts with all my blood flowing decidedly southward. “Sofia, are you absolutely sure about this? This crosses a line we can’t uncross.”
She met my gaze, her hazel eyes clear and determined as she nodded. “I want you to leave this session completely relaxed and happy. That’s what a good massage therapist does: takes care of their clients’ needs.”
I yielded. “Alright, fine, give me a happy ending.”
Smiling, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of the disposable trunks and slowly peeled them down. My erection sprang free, harder than I’d ever been in my life. I watched, mesmerised, as Sofia reached for the bottle of massage oil and filled her palms with the warm, slick liquid.
“How would you like it?” she asked, her voice professional yet intimate. “Tell me what feels best for you.”
“Start slow,” I said, “then… faster toward the end.”
She nodded, all business now as her oil-slicked hand wrapped around my shaft. The first stroke sent electricity racing up my spine. I gasped, my hips instinctively rising off the table.
“Is the pressure okay?” she asked, her touch maddeningly gentle.
“God, yes,” I said.
Sofia carefully stroked me, her hands moving up and down my length. The forbidden nature of what we were doing only heightened every sensation. Her other hand cupped my balls lightly, massaging them with the same soft touch she’d used on my back. The warm oil made everything slick and frictionless as her fingers glided over my most sensitive areas, twisting at the crown.
“You feel so tense here,” she whispered, her thumb circling the head of my cock. “Let me help you release that.”
I couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. My sister’s hand moved with increasing confidence, finding a rhythm that had me clutching at the edges of the massage table. The wet sounds of her slippery strokes filled the room, punctuated by my ragged breathing.
I blinked at the way her hand slid up and down, seeing the oil trickle down her hands.
“Faster,” I finally gasped, feeling the pressure building. “Please, Sofia.”
She responded, increasing her pace and tightening her grip just enough to drive me wild. My hips began to thrust involuntarily, seeking more of that forbidden friction.
“Jeez, that feels good,” I said.
Her breathing deepened as she quickened the pace. She stroked me with both her hands, forming a perfect hand vagina. All I could see was how my cock kept poking out from her hands, again and again. She caressed every inch of my shaft, biting her bottom lip as this clearly excited her. “Are you coming?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I’m going to come so hard.”
“I’ll catch the cum,” she said adorably as she kept going, her breasts jiggling inside her top.
I threw my head back, and all I could hear was the slick, squishy sounds of the oily handjob and my own breathing. I looked back at her, my cock throbbing harder and harder in her warm, soft hands. I kept thrusting my hips into them, desperate to fuck her hands. She noticed and just quickened her handjob and tightened her hands. The friction felt too good, and then the orgasm hit me like an erupting volcano. My back arched off the table as I flooded her hands with molten cum. She continued stroking through each pulse, milking every last drop till I soaked her hands thoroughly. She giggled and smiled, and in the end, I was so sensitive that I leaned back and sighed. She let go of my cock, my cum dripping from her fingers. Sofia reached for some tissues and gently cleaned the evidence of my release. I felt the cool air as she dabbed at my stomach, collecting the mess I’d made. A small satisfied smile played at her lips as she worked, her eyes occasionally meeting mine with a hint of pride.
As she finished cleaning me, I let out a deep sigh of relief, the tension completely drained from my body.
“So,” Sofia said, disposing of the tissues and looking at me with professional curiosity, “feedback time. Was there anything I could have done better? Different pressure? Different technique?”
I laughed, still floating in post-orgasmic bliss. “Are you kidding me? That was…” I searched for the right words, “absolutely perfect. Five stars. Would definitely recommend.”
Her face lit up with that dimpled smile I’d always found so endearing. She tucked a strand of golden-brown hair behind her ear, suddenly looking shy despite what we’d just done.
“Really? You’re not just saying that because you’re my brother?”
“Trust me, Sofia. That was…” I cleared my throat, “professionally executed.”
She beamed at me, her confidence visibly restored. “So,” she said, her voice dropping to that honey-sweet tone again, “would you be willing to let me practice some more techniques on you? I have so many different styles I need to work on.”
“Oh, you’re more than welcome, sis.”
“Even the happy ending?”
“Even the happy ending,” I said.
She leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Thank you, Jason.”
“You’re welcome, Sofia.”
The end.
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